Drawing the Line
by andy-chan24
Summary: "I love you, but you don't love me. On the other hand, John loves me the way I wished you would. So tell me, Sherlock, why should I choose you?" For the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes felt himself cry. SherlockXOCXJohn
1. PROLOGUE

**Rating: M**

**Summary: "I love you, but you don't love me. John loves me the way I wished you would. So tell me, Sherlock, why should I choose you?"**

**Pairings: SherlockXOCXJohn**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot. :)**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

Sherlock Holmes was a brilliant man; a virtuoso. He was a man of many things, of many talents, but a sociable person he was not. He could describe the things that a person had been doing from the past few hours up to the past 3 years from mere observation, but one thing that he could not see nor comprehend was the importance of social norms and its implications. It is one of the few avenues the man had failed in quite terribly. For the great genius, it was nothing but an unnecessary social convention that causes the stupidity of many. It was no wonder why not many people are fond of the hailed detective. The entire Scotland Yard, save for Lestrade, are hostile towards Holmes. Not that anyone could blame them. Having Holmes divulge your personal affairs to every person within an earshot wasn't exactly the best way to exchange pleasantries.

The man is a puzzle, the concrete personification of an enigma. He is as mysterious and as unpredictable as the cases that he so loved. Mycroft had long come to terms with his little brother's gift as well as his sociopathic behavior. Sherlock's deduction skills did not surprise Mycroft when it had first manifested itself. After all, the older Holmes did have the very same gift. Something that ran in the family, they presume. The only difference that lies was the fact that solving crimes was more of Sherlock's passion while Mycroft found himself more comfortable with a sedentary job. Although being the head of the CIA of England was anything but sedentary.

That is why people warned Dr. Watson from the beginning not to get himself attached to the eccentric consultant detective. He's nothing but trouble, they said. They even dubbed Holmes with a very special nickname: 'The Freak.' At first, John saw nothing but brilliance from the man. Who wouldn't be amazed from witnessing Sherlock Holmes' deduction skills? But as he got to know Holmes more, from the time they've spent together, the more that he came to understand the bloke that everybody condemned to be hopeless. The detective made scathing remarks and insulted people around him for their dullness and "apparent lack of intelligence." But behind that astute mind and his tendency to be socially-handicapped, Sherlock Holmes was a very good man. Despite his insistence that matters such as fear and sentiments were beneath him, John knew better than to believe him.

After all, John had become a witness to a side of Sherlock Holmes that nobody knew existed. Well, except for _her_, that is.


	2. Chapter 1: Meeting her

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** "I love you, but you don't love me. John loves me the way I wished you would. So tell me, Sherlock, why should I choose you?"

**Pairings:** SherlockxOCxJohn

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters.

**-CHAPTER 1-**

To say that Sherlock was annoyed at the current stagnation of things would be an understatement. To everyone who knew the younger Holmes, the man practically lived-off from solving cases. The man could go on without food or sleep for days but would lash out whenever he finds himself idle or in his words "being dull, just like everybody else."

A call from Lestrade earlier this morning telling them about a case made adrenaline rush through Sherlock's veins. He didn't even give the DI any time to explain. He just bolted out the door with the ever-reliable Dr. Watson tailing behind him. When the duo arrived at the Yard, they headed straight for Lestrade's office; eager to take-on the case regardless of how difficult or dangerous it may be.

The case, as it turns out, was to find out who killed the son of owner of the biggest jewelry store in the city, Mr. Marlon Green. The case seemed promising enough but as soon as Mr. Green had given out the details of the murder, Sherlock looked as if he was desperately keeping himself from uttering a snide remark. _This case cannot get any easier! Even dear old, Mrs. Hudson can solve this one._ He thought.

The man continued to ramble about his son's death and was startled when the detective interrupted his little speech and rationalized how it was his second wife who had committed the murder insisting that her alibi was a complete lie considering that she had been in town during the murder and not in the country-side where she told her husband she was off to. Sherlock added that his wife was having an affair with their Puerto Rican gardener. Mr. Green was stunned at the speculations the detective had made. This detective had deduced all of that from merely scrutinizing his appearance and a few titbits of his little back-story.

Although it did not make sense how the bloke found out about his gardener being Puerto Rican, what Holmes said was plausible. Karen Green had always been a greedy woman and when she found out that it was Robert Green, Marlon's son from his first wife, was the one to inherit the store, she started to act differently, almost bordering secretively. But her alibi was too perfect to be questioned which was the reason why he decided to ask the yard for their help. Sadly, even the Great Scotland Yard seemed baffled by the mystery that Marlon almost lost hope until the man called Sherlock Holmes came busting in the office. He looked as cold and passive as Marlon had seen in the papers. With his towering height, he loomed over Inspector Lestrade's table with a face that meant serious business. The detective didn't bother with formalities and went straight to the point; asking clues and information regarding the cases. In not less than 3 hours, Karen Green was arrested for murder and adultery with their gardener, Pedro, as her accomplice and lover.

Mr. Green was about to approach the young detective to say his gratitude and amazement for the man's outstanding deduction but was taken aback when he saw him snap at Donavan and Anderson. Holmes was telling them something along the lines of "pathetic imbeciles" and "your presence decreases the intelligence of the room." Marlon Green was so engrossed by the banter going on between Holmes and the two members of the Scotland Yard that he was startled when a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder.

"You'd have to forgive him for lashing out like that. He'd just been very frustrated from the lack of cases these past few weeks" A man, with blonde hair and blue eyes that looked at him apologetically, said.

Marlon recognized this man to be Dr. John Watson, the assistant of Sherlock Holmes. He was just as famous as the detective seeing as they always appear side-by-side in the newspaper and he also stumbled upon his blog a few weeks ago where he had read about the ingenious which Sherlock Holmes was. He suddenly felt so honoured at having the famous duo work on his case that he was just rendered speechless. He was suddenly pulled out of his reverie when the doctor was pulled not-too-gently by Holmes himself as he call them a cab, ignoring the blonde man's protest. Lestrade sighed and stared at the retreating taxi occupied by the two.

"Seriously, Holmes needs to stop acting like a kid. He needs to learn that he can't always get what he wants" he muttered into no-one in particular. Marlon Green just stared at the man with a curious expression, clearly baffled by his statement.

"The man lives from the thrill of solving cases. As promising as that is, it's a dangerous job. The bloke's too smart for his own damn good that he made himself quite a number of enemies." Mr. Green gave him no response but just ushered for Lestrade to continue. The latter sighed deeply.

"You'd wish a woman would tie that fool down but no, the man's way to asexual for his own good."

"You mean he and Dr. Watson are not..?" Mr. Green looked so genuinely surprised that Lestrade couldn't keep himself from letting out a hearty laugh.

"Oh heavens, no! But it would make a whole lot of sense if they were." He chuckled and gave Mr. Green a good pat on the back; the client not oblivious to the mirth dancing in Lestrade's eyes.

John Watson would sometimes wonder 'why on earth is he still sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes?' The thought of living in the streets and becoming part of the 'Homeless network' seems more peaceful than having to listen to the so-called genius detective's childish rants. He was in the middle of the process of cleaning up the kitchen earlier that morning when his sociopathic flatmate almost dragged him out of the apartment building to the Great Scotland Yard. This was certainly not the first time when Sherlock had dragged him while he was in the middle of something. He could not even keep count of the number of his dates that were ruined because of Holmes' insane orders. God, he even forgot to do the grocery shopping today.

Sherlock may have been used to keeping his hunger in check, but as a doctor and as his best friend, John was having none of it. He was seriously thinking whether the agreement on being the flatmate of Sherlock Holmes included being the obnoxious man's nanny. He should've gotten that money from Mycroft, John thought begrudgingly.

The dark-haired man continued to rant and rave about things John did not bother to listen to. He just made small noises and grunts every now and then to pretend that he was still listening. The blonde doctor opted to stare out the window and watch the panorama of images as the cab drove to their destination.

"John, are you listening?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I'm listening" John drawled uninterestedly, his face betraying his words.

"This is one of those times that I wish I had the skull as a companion, I've had more logical arguments with him than you"

John felt a vein pop in his head. He tried to calm down his breathing to ease his slowly rising anger. "Ignore the 'punch me' pretext, John" he said to himself, whispering the words like a mantra. This is definitely going to be a long day.

The moment the two entered the front door, Sherlock had abruptly stopped his incessant ramblings and ran through the several flight of stairs to their shared apartment. John was so surprised that he just stood there and stared at the staircase that his flatmate rushed to climb and slowly followed him.

That was surely odd, even for Sherlock. The consulting detective stopped in midsentence, something the bloke never does. If there was one thing that Sherlock loved, it was making his point. He would outlive God in having the last word. John's silent deduction was cut short when he suddenly heard Sherlock growl out in frustration. Fear started nipping at his nerves and he found himself almost soaring through what seemed to be, an endless flight of stairs.

When he reached their apartment, he conditioned himself to expect for the worst. Being associated with Sherlock Holmes meant having to be prepared for battle at the most unorthodox places, which includes their humble apartment. He shoved the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbow and opened the apartment door, bracing himself for a surprise attack by an unknown enemy, only for his nose to be filled with the floral scent that was lingering in the air. _Flowers?_

The moment John had finally gotten a good look at their apartment, the only thing that he could comprehend was how clean and so-utterly different it was from how they left it this morning. Everything was just so…_feminine._

The drapes were changed from the simple red velvet to a transparent floral pink that illuminated the whole room. The news papers and books that scattered everywhere a few hours ago are now neatly arrange in the bookshelf by the fire place. The coffee table has been wiped clean and decorated by a vase of lavish roses and lilies. The furniture was arranged and the purple carpet had been vacuumed, all looking as good as new.

John stepped onto the kitchen and was just blown away. Sherlock's chemistry equipment that usually littered on the dinner table were washed and polished and are now neatly arranged in the shelves. The dinner table itself is now draped in light blue linen with several placemats, table napkins and utensils resting on it. Another vase of what seemed to be lavenders adorned the exquisitely arranged dinner table. He could hardly believe it was the same dinner table where Sherlock's collections of thumbs were laid out a couple of nights ago.

He walked over to the newly polished refrigerator and was fully expecting to see a severed-head inside. After all, Mrs. Hudson couldn't be brazen enough to move that disgusting piece of rotting human meat from the fridge. When he opened the machine, he was surprised by the lack of a certain human anatomy inside and was more surprised at the wide range of food that has been neatly stacked inside the fridge. From eggs to down to Sherlock's favourite cereal (The man refuses to eat any other cereal brand and product. He was very picky). Different types of meat are inside the freezer and FRESH vegetables and fruits of different colours were neatly arranged at the bottom of the fridge. Now that he thought about it, he was able to spot a couple of spices sitting near the stove on his way to the refrigerator.

The doctor let his eyes wander around the apartment one more time, just to make sure that what he saw earlier was not his mere delusion. Mrs. Hudson had been very nice and patient to the two of them but never this nice. Panic suddenly started to bubble inside John's head. _What if Mrs. Hudson is dying and this was her subtle way of showing her final act of kindness?_ John rushed to his room mate's room, intending to share his own share of deductions, only to find him muttering curses as he rummage through his possessions.

"Sherlock, I think Mrs. Hud-"

"Save it, John. I need to have a word with Mrs. Hudson." The dark-haired man said in finality. His grey eyes narrowed in slits as he made a bee-line for the door, probably headed straight for the landlady's room.

John had a feeling that things are going to get really ugly soon if he doesn't stop Sherlock. Social protocols had always been his weakness. In this situation, a nice "thank you, Mrs. Hudson" was probably the last thing in the so-called genius' mind.

Sherlock almost jumped from the stairs to Mrs. Hudson's doorstep before he started furiously banging on her door calling out for her. John came to him a few seconds later and held his arm to keep him from disturbing their landlady or in this case, the entire Baker Street.

"Sherlock, enough of this! You should be grateful that Mrs. Hudson had been kind enough to clean up after our mess! She even went grocery shopping for us, for Christ's sake!"

"John, I may have problems in trying to grasp social necessities, but I do firmly believe that it is crossing the line to go through other's private belongingness! And besides, it is perfectly clear that this is not Mrs. Hudson's doing! What I am trying to find out is who on earth did my brother sent this time to clean up the flat!" John was taken aback. _It wasn't Mrs. Hudson?_

"Of course it's not Mrs. Hudson. Do keep up, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I already have you to force vegetables down my throat; Mycroft should really learn how to respect a man's privacy. I am a full-grown man, perfectly capable of living on his own, thank you very much."

John was about to throw his own retort when Mrs. Hudson's door suddenly opened. A blinding light from the warm afternoon sun filled the entire household.

"Sherly, darling! I've missed you!" a feminine voice cried. John spluttered at the unusually pet-name

"Sherly?" The usually stoic detective seems as if he was torn between being confused and embarrassed at the same time. A red hue suddenly sprayed across his normally pale cheeks. _The only person who calls him that is..._

"Lizzy?" he managed to call out before a blur of pink, red and green blinded his vision. He felt a pair of small arms encircle his neck and soft, satin lips descend upon his own. He was about to protest until the smell of sweet peas overwhelmed his senses while recognition and nostalgia crash through him like a tidal wave.


	3. Chapter 2: Nostalgia

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** "I love you, but you don't love me. John loves me the way I wished you would. So tell me, Sherlock, why should I choose you?"

**Pairings:** SherlockxOCxJohn

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters.

**-CHAPTER 2-**

_(Rustle .Rustle. Rustle)_

"_Well, that must've hurt."_

"…_.." __**The boy simply stared at the newcomer blankly, not looking a bit interested in her attempt at a conversation.**_

"_Bradley's huge. He beat you up pretty badly."_

"…_.."_

"_Yes, the boy's a bad sort, though. Being the headmaster's son had really gotten to his head."_

"…_.."_

"_All the more because he's got his lackeys, Schmidt and Walters. Those two bone-heads wouldn't know the difference between cranberry juice and rat poison."_

_(Snort)_

"_At least, you were able to land yourself some pretty decent punches. Bradley's going to be out of campus for a while."  
"….."_

"_You could've been expelled."_

"…_.."_

_(Sigh)_

_(Silence)_

"_You shouldn't have mentioned about his brother's drug abuse, you know?"_

"_Leave me alone."_

"_You know that was crossing the line, Sherlock."_

"_I said, Leave. Me. Alone."_

"_Your lip's bleeding."_

"_And the sky is blue, the sun is yellow, are we done stating the obvious? Thank you. LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"_

"_I've got some antiseptic spray. It would sting a little but-"_

"_Why don't you indulge yourself in another pint of chocolate ice cream? That's all you've been eating for the past few days, isn't it? You've got your butler all wrapped-up in your pretty little fingers. Mummy and Daddy have been neglecting you for quite a while now and you've turned to chocolate for comfort considering that your several pitiful attempts at suicide had failed miserably. Your butler's only been around for the past 2 weeks and so far, you've been blackmailing him to let you do what you want, when you please in exchange for keeping his really bad smoking habit a secret. You draw a lot as well, another avenue for your pent up frustrations; one of your talents other than gymnastics. You like to read books, spending the break time in the farthest corners of the library. It's your sanctuary, your haven. I suggest that you go back to reading those medical textbooks that you oh so loved and again, LEAVE. ME. ALONE."_

"…_.."_

"…_."_

_(silence)_

_(sigh)_

"_You're still here."_

"_I thought we were done stating the obvious, Sherlock, dear?"_

"_You've already seen my 'magic powers' Midford, why are you still bugging me?"_

"…_.."_

"…_well?"_

"_You don't have many friends."_

"_Again, stating the obvious. I thought we were past that?"_

"_I can be your friend."_

"_I don't need your sympathy."_

"_It's not sympathy."_

"_Just lea-"_

"_You've been all alone all your life. Nobody understands you except for your brother who left years ago for university. He was your father's favourite and that always made you feel inferior. Whatever you do, you're always just 2__nd__ best because your older brother is perfect. This morning, you've had a small argument with your father while you were having Darjeeling tea; he's probably not satisfied with your performance in one of the sports he has enrolled you in. I'm guessing, fencing?"_

_**Startled grey orbs stared at her sea-foam green. She tilted her little red-head, as if asking for permission to continue.**_

"_Considering your punches earlier, you're pretty good at boxing. It's something that you're passionate about because it's the only area where your brother's not excelling at. Your father, however, disapproves of the sport as he acknowledges it as more of a brawler's gaiety rather than a gentleman's recreation. Would you like me to continue?"_

_**The boy with the mass of curly black hair gaped at the frail red-headed girl who had read him as if he was an open book. A talent, he thought, that only he and his older brother possess. He watched her as she approached him on his spot by the maple tree. She crouched down in front of him to meet him eye-to-eye.**_

"_It's not sympathy, Sherlock. It's empathy."_

_**The girl with the long red hair and bright green eyes smiled at him.**_

_**And for the first time in years, he felt himself smiling too.**_

"Elizabeth.." he groaned amidst their lip lock. The red-headed woman deepened the contact before pulling away from their kiss and giggled girlishly.

"Oh Sherly, you know how I get when I miss you." She smiled charmingly at the towering man in front of her. Not a bit intimidated by the half-heated glare the bloke was giving her.

In the midst of the chaos, John just stood there, stunned at watching the beautiful woman kiss the daylights out of Sherlock Holmes. For a man who's esteemed to be asexual, Holmes surely knows how to pick his women. The red-headed woman barely reached Sherlock's chin. She had a toned, lithe body but was curvaceous enough to be considered sexy; her pale skin gives the impression of being illuminated by the bright sunlight.

She wore a white floral summer dress and a pair of expensive looking heels. Despite her brash actions a couple of minutes ago, her presence screamed elegance and gracefulness. The woman in question turned her attention him. Her bright green eyes stared curiously at John's dumbfounded form; her hold on Sherlock's neck still in place.

"And who might you be?" her head tilted to the side, in an attempt to emphasize her curiosity. She felt her dear Sherly sigh against her plump chest. John continued to stare. A shock blanket would definitely be nice now.

"Lizzy, meet Dr. John Watson, my current flatmate and…friend. He also assists in me in my cases" Sherlock droned, not sounding a bit interested at the new acquaintance. The man's identity dawned on the girl and she quickly detached herself from Sherlock and held Watson's hands.

"I'm sorry to have not recognized you, Dr. Watson! The excitement of seeing my dear Sherlock again had gotten the better of me" Lizzy's eyes gleamed with appreciation as she smiled heart-warmingly at the blonde man in front of her.

"My name is Elizabeth Dorothea Midford, fiancée of Sherlock Holmes. It is certainly a pleasure to be acquainted to you, Dr. Watson!" the girl chirped as if it was the most casual thing to say in the world. Sherlock looked unperturbed by the outburst and instead chose to go inside Mrs. Hudson's apartment and confront the older woman about the sudden appearance of his fiancée.

On the other hand, John was drowning in confusion. A strange (but undeniably beautiful) woman suddenly jumps unto the asexual Sherlock Holmes, latches herself onto him, kissed him and now, she introduces herself to be the said asexual man's fiancée? Suddenly, he felt his stomach lurch. Hunger and exhaustion from running around in an attempt to catch a certain Puerto Rican gardener, finally got the better of him and without warning, he felt as if the life had been sucked out of him then the world just turned black.

"Sherly, I think he's finally coming to."

"Leave the man alone, Lizzy. Let him rest. He gets cranky when he's all worn-out."

"Obviously he's been worn-out. You've been dragging the poor man into your cases. He looks as if he hasn't gotten any proper sleep for days!"

"Oh he's fine! He's used to it and besides, John loves the thrill!"

"We all know that's not true, Sherlock! You have got to give this man a break! Dr. Watson hasn't dated in weeks. Unlike you, dear, the man needs that."

John's eyes slowly opened to see the blinding sunlight that had filled his and Sherlock's shared living room. He squinted his eyes to adjust his vision to the glaring light. Slowly lifting himself up, he tried get himself seated in what appeared to be their newly vacuumed couch only to be pushed back by a pair of slim arms.

"You must lie down, Dr. Watson! You, of all people, should know that it's not healthy to skip meals." A pair of green eyes met his gaze. He was still woozy from his little black-out earlier. What was her name again? Oh yes, Elizabeth.

John stared blankly at the girl inches away from his face. Given the chance, he scrutinized her face at the closer look. Elizabeth had pale ivory skin but her cheeks seemed to have this permanent flush across her cheeks. Her emerald eyes roaming all over his features, probably to find any abnormalities in him. Her button nose scrunched up as her soft fingers thread through his blonde mane; her full, plump lips pursed in concentration.

Elizabeth was absolutely stunning. Her facial features and voluptuous figure matches those stunning girls he sees in the cover of magazines. The way she moves and speaks only accentuates her innate gracefulness. Clearly the girl had been given an aristocratic upbringing. Her voice was soft and warm, speaking to him as a mother would to her beloved child. It was soothing, easing his exhaustion. John stared at her lips and noticed that they were moving. Elizabeth had been speaking.

"Dr. Watson, are you alright?" he directed his gaze from her lips to her awaiting eyes. He spotted Sherlock standing behind Elizabeth, his eyebrow raised at former army doctor in question. His cheeks flushed; embarrassed that he was caught staring. John cleared his throat to hide his uneasiness.

"John, please. And I'm perfectly alright. Thank you." He managed to croak out. God, he felt like a five year old having a school-girl crush. At his best friend's fiancée, none the less!

The woman seemed satisfied with his answer and turned towards the kitchen. Sherlock seated himself beside his flat mate and gave him a blank stare. John simply stared in return.

"You have questions."

"Obviously, I do, _Sherly_. Who the hell is she?"

"I thought she made herself perfectly clear earlier, John. She's my fiancée. Do you still need me to explain the dynamics of being betrothed?"

"Oh, shut up! Like you would know any better! What I want to know is how do YOU, Sherlock Holmes, have a fiancée?" John felt himself hankering to pull his hair off from his head. For Holmes to snag himself a woman as fine as Elizabeth Midford was just absurd. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes being in a relationship with a woman was already ridiculous!

"Come on, now, John. I find it offensive that you presuppose the whole ordeal as preposterous."

"Because you are, YOU!" he emphasize as if it answered all the detective's queries. John felt himself going hysterical. Between him and his flatmate, he'd always prided himself to be the expert in the social avenue. While Sherlock undeniably held the brains for crime-solving, John was more of the people's person; always acting as the mediator between the socially-handicapped detective and the rest of the world.

John was the one who dated and mingled with the opposite gender while the apathetic Holmes indulged himself in solving mysteries. And now, a woman who looks as if she models for Burberry struts her pretty little arse in their apartment claiming to be the asexual detective's fiancée. Where is the justice in this forsaken world?

"You said you were married to your work! You said girlfriends weren't really your area!"

"She's not my girlfriend, she's my fiancée. Do keep up, John."

"For heaven's sake, that's not the point!"

"I hope you do understand that I can't literally marry my work now, can I?"

The blonde man felt a low growl erupt from throat. He had enough from the insufferable bloke. He was about to pounce on his room mate like an angry cheetah when a tray of hot chicken soup and corn bread was shoved into his lap to keep him from moving.

"Hush, Sherlock, dear. You're stressing him out even more. I thought I told you to get some sleep as well. You've been awake for days on and haven't slept a wink. You'd be more useful to the Yard if you're not dead!" Elizabeth chastised Sherlock Holmes like a wife would to her husband. Something bubbled inside John as he watched the beautiful woman help his flat mate take off his coat and scarf while the latter sulked rather childishly from being treated like a baby.

"Now, now, dear. You need to sleep. You need to energize yourself if we want you to be at your best in your next case, don't we?" She cupped the man's face and gazed at him lovingly. Sherlock parted his mouth to speak but was shunned by her dainty finger to silence him.

"I promise to explain everything after you get a good sleep. Good night, love." She brought down his head and kissed his forehead tenderly. John waited for Sherlock's usual comebacks but it never came.

The detective stared at his fiancée, his jaw clenching then unclenching. He appeared to be having an inner turmoil in that brilliant brain of his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then sighed. The doctor had never seen his friend so worn-out and_ SILENT_ before. The obnoxious detective never allows anyone to tell him what to do. _Just who is this woman?_

Sherlock brought a large hand and carefully cupped Elizabeth's right cheek; holding her as if she was a fragile porcelain doll that could break at slightest contact. He lowered his head and brought his lips to her forehead, letting it linger there for what seemed as an eternity. Elizabeth closed her eyes and savoured the feeling of the contact. She felt his lips brush the shell of her ear and heard him whisper a soft 'Good night, Lizzy' before walking to the direction of his room. The woman just stood there, rooted to her spot.

A soft 'thump' resonated inside the stilled apartment when Sherlock closed his bedroom door.

Elizabeth turned to her attention to John who had witnessed the entire encounter. The man resembled a lost child. Confusion was clearly reflected in his sapphire orbs. She gave him a small, bittersweet smile. Even when torned, the woman still managed to look absolutely heavenly.

Her gaze shifted to the open window. The light of day had long passed only to be replaced by the dim shine of the moonlight. Her, once, cheery demeanour was completely gone; leaving her a beautiful empty shell.

"So John, what would you like to know?"


End file.
